Jamais Vu
by Mwillo
Summary: Stiles will never get used to the whole kidnapping-and-torture thing, no matter how often it happens. Eventual Sterek. M for sexual overtones(though nothing graphic yet), language, and a dash of torture. There are vampires but that's not really super important.


A million years ago, when Stiles' only connection to the supernatural was the unhealthy number of fantasy movies he watched, he'd thought that maybe there was something so pressing about life-threatening peril that you had no choice but to focus.

Stiles was incredibly disappointed to find that near-death experiences didn't cure ADD. Actually, they kinda made it worse.

"Hey."

Derek only spared him a passing glare, still struggling fruitlessly to find a position where he had enough leverage to break the chains braced to his ankles. Stiles had not been deemed dangerous enough to be dangled from the ceiling, which was kinda insulting, but also kind of hilarious because, y'know. Derek hanging from the ceiling by his ankles.

He was pretty sure that if he could find some way to unchain himself from the wall, he could open the cage. Which was useless, because he was chained to the fucking wall, but he hadn't slept in something like 48 hours and the fact that he could pick _one_ of the locks ensuring their doom seemed very important.

"So do supernatural ailments stack? We've established that both werewolves and vampires exist, but can you be both? Are there people that are both?" Stiles pushed on, for some reason incredibly invested in this issue. Probably because if it was possible that something that terrible/awesome could happen, it would absolutely happen to him or someone close to him. Not even a kinda-sorta thing. It _would_ happen, that was just the way of the universe.

Again, nothing but a burning glare of doom. Stiles found it in himself to experience a little thrill of fear at the flash of Derek's red-eyed gaze, which was a nice break from his crushing exhaustion for the half a second that it lasted. Stiles wasn't typically one to ramble, but if it fought off the crushing anchor of sleep trying to drag his mind into the dark, he was willing to make an exception.

"Taking your hostile silence as a yes, if you get the bite from a werepire, what happens? Which one takes precedence? Or do you become both at the same time too, like suddenly you have two kinds of magic fangs and-"

"You die," Derek cut in, teeth clenched and breath coming in hard bursts as he rested momentarily from his struggles with the ankle-chains. Stiles wasn't really sure why he kept trying to reach the chains with his hands, since the chain was coated with silver and burned at the touch anyway.

Stiles must've looked like he was going to talk again because Derek cut him off with an angry wave of his hand. At least, Stiles was pretty sure that was what happened. His vision was kinda blurry, to be completely honest.

"Vampire and werewolf blood form an acid when mixed."

"Ah. So if one bites the other, they both die a horrible melty death?"

Derek ignored him, back to fidgeting with the braces around his ankles.

"Does the same go for saliva? 'Cause that would mean that all werewolf-vampire romances ever would actually end in sizzly demise. The supernatural romance fans will be heartbroken, Derek."

"_Shut_ _up_," Derek hissed. Hours of Stiles' grating nonsense must've been wearing on him, because his eyes were bleary spots of red and Stiles thought he could make out the sharp points of fangs. The fact that Derek hadn't made any death threats yet was actually worrying. The fact that Stiles expected death threats every few minutes was perhaps _even more _worrying.

"Hey," Stiles started again, choosing to ignore Derek's rather succint demands in favor of the ideas rushing through his head. "Would this acid be hypothetically be strong enough to corrode metal? I have some vamp blood on my shirt, and you're full of werewolf blood, so..."

Derek was still hyperventilating like he'd run a marathon, eyes glinting crimson and sideburns looking suspiciously fuzzy. Stiles was momentarily grateful for his smeary vision because he was almost certain that he was looking at Derek's "I am trying really hard not to eat you" face. Wasn't it the full moon? How was Derek not already wolf-shaped and trying to murder him? Stiles decided that maybe he shouldn't be so hard on the guy.

Stiles lifted his free hand placatingly as though that made up for two days of being trapped in a cell together. To be fair, during the first day Stiles'd had his mouth duct taped shut, so he was pretty sure that didn't count.

"Look, you've still got that cut on your side open. If I throw you my shirt, can you kinda mix the fluids and then press the acid against the metal?"

The sound of heavy breathing didn't stop, but the red seemed to be fading from Derek's eyes. He gave an upside-down nod which Stiles' sleepy brain had some trouble processing and held out an arm to catch.

Encouraged, Stiles began the slow process of stripping his partially shredded shirt away from his body with his unchained arm. His muscles felt like broken rubber bands after two days without rest or sustenance, but the material gave easily, and after a few agonizing minutes there was nothing left of it but a snarl of cloth in his hand.

"Catch," he warned before throwing the shirt as hard as he could.

...Which, as it turned out, wasn't that hard. Derek swung forward and snagged the fabric on his claws, but the forward momentum reopened the slash in Derek's side. A stray rivulet of blood trickled down Derek's arm to his hand. Stiles heard a faint sizzle drowned out by Derek's yelp of surprise as he dropped the shirt where neither of them could quite reach it.

Derek fixed Stiles with a "this-is-all-your-fault" stare.

Stiles was expecting something along the lines of Derek's typical throat-ripping threats, so he was further surprised when Derek only grit out the word "pants". His voice was coarser than Stiles had ever heard it, and Stiles was forced again to realize just how close Derek probably was to losing his humanity. Which was yet another variable to juggle in his cunning escape plan, since Derek sure as hell wasn't getting them out of this.

"Uh?" responded Stiles because really, how do you react to that? Pants? It hardly seemed like an appropriate time to interact with anyone's pants. Really inappropriate, actually.

Derek took it upon himself to explain in case Stiles had missed the message.

"Take them off," he instructed helpfully, apparently having difficulty stringing together coherent thoughts.

It was about then that Stiles decided that he was hallucinating because there was no way Derek had just told him to take off his pants. Like, seriously, even in Stiles' creepy hormonal fantasies nobody was that straightforward. Or that nice. Usually they were more like horrible shame dreams where the people that he cared about laughed at his inability to control his libido.

And WOW now was really not the time to be thinking about his pitiful excuses for wet dreams, not when he had more important things to do. Like figure out a logical reason why Derek could possibly want him to remove his pants.

Oh. Vampire blood. Riiiiiight. Maybe it actually was a good time to take off his pants.

Today was really not Stiles' day.

Stuffing his rampant teenage hormones into the back of his mind, Stiles set about the task of taking off his pants in front of a panting, shirtless Derek without being awkward.

The fact that he actually thought to himself "And now I have to take off my pants in front of a panting shirtless Derek" made that pretty fucking difficult.

He managed it anyway, like he always did. That was Stiles, cool under any pressure, including undressing in front of an admittedly hot murderous werewolf. Well, kinda cool. Actually he was pretty sweaty but he blamed that on the fact that apparently vampires didn't need air conditioning.

Stiles slipped the waistband of his pants over his feet and curled his knees up against his chest. Derek watched intently throughout the entire pants-removing procedure, which, yeah, Stiles didn't even try to start a train of thought regarding that.

Stiles was extraordinarily glad that he had chosen to wear regular black boxers today. Well, two days ago, rather. Now that he thought about it he could really use a shower.

Again, Stiles, not the time to be thinking about showers, not when panting shirtless staring Derek is tainting your every innocent thought.

"Ready?" Stiles asked, winding up for a toss. Derek reached out his hand just as the door to the room opened.

The three of them froze there comically for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the vampire that'd just walked in.

It was that blond vampire guy again. Stiles recognized him as the guy who'd slashed Derek with a silver knife a few hours back. Stiles might not have had any particular love for Derek, and sometimes he kinda wanted to stab him with a silver knife too, but the vampire's cruelty set a lump of fear and hatred writing in Stiles' stomach.

"Hi," greeted the vampire, and his voice didn't drip with the familiar sarcastic smugness that all villains seemed to share. His tone was all business with a touch of impatience. Actually he sounded like he didn't really want to be there. "So we've come up with something fun to pass the time. A game, kinda. You guys excited?"

Blondie only paused for a second before continuing. "Great. Basically we're gonna let one of you go, and all you have to do is say that you wanna leave," he paused only for an instant to check his watch. "And then we kill the other one. If you try to be heroes and save each other, then we'll torture you until someone breaks. Yeah? Good? We'll get started in a few minutes."

Stiles was about to protest, something along the lines of "woah, hey, we don't actually care about each other also why would you let either of us go, that is so obviously a lie," but he felt a sharp twinge in the small of his back and had no choice but to finally give in to sleep.

A/N: I am extremely sorry.

Next chapter's got a little torture. So, uh. That's happening.

Happy birthday, Sammy! I apologize for this abomination of a work of fiction.


End file.
